


Blood Pact

by Little_Lat



Series: Blood Ties [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biological Warfare, Bombs, F/M, Sickfic, Spies & Secret Agents, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Lat/pseuds/Little_Lat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were fragmented. Athos could see that. </p><p>It didn’t look as if d’Artagnan and Aramis would ever be friends again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the fourth installment of the "Blood Ties" universe!
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^^
> 
> Reading "Blood Ties", "Before Blood" and "Bad Blood" before this fic is recommended.

**Blood Pact  
**

**Chapter 1**

They were fragmented. Athos could see that. His team, his once strong, act-as-one unit was splitting. The divide wasn't a loud one, not one filled with raised voices or spiteful words, but rather the quiet nursing of hurt feelings and prides. He knew on some level that he had let it go on for too long. Athos should had forced an intervention when he had first noticed the fractures, because now those tiny breaks were splintering, threatening to become chasms which would be irrevocable.

It didn't look as if d'Artagnan and Aramis' friendship would ever be the same again.

Athos sighed, sweeping his gaze over the Unit 2 office. To an outsider the office looked at peace. All three of his friends, his men, looked to be hard at work at their desks. But that was the problem. Their heads were down, d'Artagnan's buried in his lap top and Aramis' and Porthos' proofreading their newest report. There was no laughter. No banter. No… Nothing.

Silence in the Unit 2 office was almost unheard of and, for their leader, worringly unnerving.

Porthos stood suddenly, muttered an excuse about needing to see Treville, and escaped the tense quiet. Athos shot a glare at the retreating back of his only ally as he left the room.

_Coward…_

Not that Athos could blame him. Of the four members of Unit 2 it was Porthos who was taking this fracture the hardest. Despite the man's intimidating, looming frame, he was the personification of the term "the gentle giant". With no family of his own, Porthos was one of the many people who saw the Musketeers as his family, so the rift between his brothers cut him all the deeper. It was honestly no surprise to Athos that he was withdrawing from the situation.

If possible the air got even thicker without Porthos there to dilute it. d'Artagnan glared a little too intently at his screen, Aramis fingers gripped the pages of his report so hard Athos was surprised it hadn't ripped.

The pair were just so stubborn, as bad as each other… It had been a week straight of this, a solid week of d'Artagnan falling silent as Aramis walks into the office, of Aramis clamming up around their newest team member.

It wasn't that Athos couldn't understand the pair's argument. He _could_. d'Artagnan felt betrayed and Aramis felt embarrassed but while they refused to swallow their pride and _talk_ about how Aramis had missed d'Artagnan's commencement ceremony nothing would improve.

Because it had hurt their newest member. D'Artagnan had worked so hard over the year. He had been focused, diligent, and a month after his release from hospital Treville had called a meeting of the whole Garrison. It hadn't been a huge affair. Agents had gathered in the atrium, the central point between all the offices. A space had been left at the front for Unit 2, after all, d'Artagnan was theirs.

" _I don't think it will come as a surprise," Treville had begun, a hand resting on d'Artagnan's shoulder, "That when Athos woke up in his hospital bed over a year ago, demanding to know what had happened to the 'kid with a man bun' in the raid following his rescue, I thought he had lost him mind."_

_d'Artagnan shifted uncomfortably, heat rising in his cheeks. His beginning with the Musketeers was no secret in the Garrison. At first d'Artagnan had expected to be met with resentment from the other men – after all Athos was well loved by all them. But his seal of approval went further, so at Athos' request, the rest of the musketeers had accepted him, knowledge of his past and all._

" _And when he requested that I not only release him, but employ him," Treville continued, knowing rather smugly he was embarrassing both men concerned, "I almost had him sectioned."_

_A ripple of laughter spread throughout the agents._

" _I couldn't believe what was being suggested. It seemed insanity. But I didn't see what Athos saw when he first looked at the man before us today. He saw a sharp mind, loyal spirit, and brave heart which led Athos to demand I create this apprenticeship. I will admit that I didn't see it in the beginning, but I do now."_

_The Captain reached down and picked up a small black box from the desk. He flipped it open, revealing the pin lapel pin which all Musketeers owned. Their society was secret, but they all had the same small Fleur de lis pin, marking them all as one in the same for those who knew the significance of the symbol._

" _d'Artagnan de Lupaic," Captain Treville leant forward. He pinched together the white fabric of d'Artagnan's shirt and fastened to the pin over his heart, "It is an honour to call you a brother in arms."_

_A smile can't help but spread across the young man's face, the silver shining proudly out to the crowd as Treville turned him to face the rest of the room._

" _Ladies and gentleman, I give you our newest Musketeer, d'Artagnan!"_

_The agents surrounding their Captain and their newest brother erupted, none more loudly than Porthos. A wide grin split his face as he stamped his feet and whooped. Athos clapped more reservedly, but the smile on his face was filled with a pride which burned through his chest._

_As the group surged forward to congratulate him, d'Artagnan's eyes kept searching. Porthos was pulling him into a bear hug, Athos was gripping his shoulder but his gaze still roamed the room. There was a sea of faces, all smiling, all happy, but one missing._

" _Where's Aramis?"_

Athos sighed… It wasn't just Aramis' absence which had hurt d'Artagnan so, but his refusal to offer a reason for it. Instead of explaining himself, which likely would have smoothed the situation over, he had become defensive, shrugging off the questions with the phrase " _I didn't realise I had to explain myself to you lot."_

Now here they were, a week on, and the two seemed like they were at breaking point. The moved round each other, tip toeing, avoiding eye contact, waiting at for the other to disappear before they spoke.

It took all of Athos' self-control to resist hitting his head against his desk.

The worst part of this whole thing was he had no idea how to fix it.

* * *

"This is a fact finding mission," Athos stressed down his radio mic. He tapped the a few keys on his lap top, switching his camera view to the one mounted on d'Artagnan's chest, "Make sure your cams gets an eye of everything. Don't touch _anything._ "

"So you've said," Aramis muttered into his own mic, the voice sounding muffled in Athos' ear, "Repeatedly."

Athos' muttered a curse under his breath, too low for the mic to pick up, and turned back the images on the screen.

This was not how this mission was meant to go. The plan had been to have him in the observation van, Aramis on the neighbouring roof top as look out, and Porthos and d'Artagnan on the ground in the offices. That had been the _plan_ , before Treville had pulled Porthos to run an endurance turning session with the new batch of recruits. Athos had started to protest, but short of admitting to Treville that Unit 2 were ignoring each other like sullen teenagers, there was little he could do.

With Porthos gone they were forced to rework the plan. No one on the roof, rather Athos watching both the CCTV of the area and the goings on in the offices from the van, and d'Artagnan and Aramis inside. Athos' tone during the briefing left no room for argument. He decided he didn't _care_ about their fight. They could act like petulant, stubborn children on their own time but they were supposed to professionals. Athos resolved just to treat them as such.

Athos switched back, checking the darkened street outside was still and deserted, before switching to his Aramis-cam.

"Intel said the bomb components are kept in the workshop in the back, behind a key padded door. d'Artagnan I assume you can take care of it?"

"Yea, give me a minute…" d'Artagnan eased the bottom panel underneath a red light on the key pad and connected his own console with a wire.

"Take you time by all means," Aramis mumbled, causing d'Artagnan to shoot a glare over his shoulder.

"Oh I'm sorry are we speaking now? I just assumed after a week of you ignoring me –"

"Ignoring you?" Aramis' voice, thick with sarcasm, dripped into Athos' ear, "You've been acting like a sanctimonious little twit."

"Aramis…" Athos growled out a warning but d'Artagnan had already taken the bait.

"Well at least I'm not under any delusions anymore. I'm sure whichever girl you were fucking was more important than watching your team member get his pin."

Aramis blanched, surprised by the venom in the younger man's words. His eyes narrowed, as if ready to strangle d'Artagnan, Athos too far away to get between them, but the group was saved by a soft beep as the door slid open.

"Will you two just get your job _done,_ " Athos ground out, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on, "Fight on your own time. Find some evidence of the bombs, get it on film, and get _out_ of there."

Both men, nudged out of their argument, muttered their agreement. Athos switched back to d'Artagnan's camera as he entered the room. The picture bounced with the movement, disorientating Athos as he watched.

"Uhh… Athos?" d'Artagnan's voice sounded unsure the coms.

"What is it?"

"This-"

"-Isn't a workshop…" Aramis finished the sentence.

Athos frowned as the camera stopped bouncing. His men were right. The intel had told of a workshop area behind the private offices where dirty bombs were made. They had expected work benches, piping for casings and nails and screws for shrapnel. The room they stood had none of that. From the looks of things it was a laboratory.

"The fuck –" Athos muttered, "d'Artagnan give me a better look around, get closer."

The camera began moving again as d'Artagnan moved towards the steel work surfaces. They were clean, with various pieces of equipment you'd expect in a laboratory stacked neatly in place.

"Athos, are you seeing this?" Aramis asked. "Switch to my camera."

Athos did as he was told but the footage was hard to make out. Long thin cylinders of some kind, but the details were eaten up by the darkness.

"Can I get some light?" Athos asked.

"Here," It was d'Artagnan's voice. A moment later a torch was clicked on and shone at whatever he was meant to be looking at. Athos shifted a little closer to the screen.

"That looks like…"

"Vials… Test tubes," Aramis breathed as he looked at the tall refrigerated shelves. Each level held about 10 different test tubes, all the same size, all around two thirds filled with clear liquid, "What do the building plans say this room is meant to be?"

Athos flicked his view for a moment away from the video feed, "Three different store rooms. Internal walls separating them…"

"Well someone's done some renovations…"

Athos switched back to the live feed just in time to see Aramis pick up on of the vials in a gloved hand.

"Careful…." He warned.

Aramis ignored this superior, instead squinting at the thin white label of the test tube, "RN6X… Ring any bells, Athos?"

Athos let out a breath, "None..."

"They're all the same," d'Artagnan muttered from his crouched position, as he looked at the labels, "RN6X… There must be, what 60 vials?"

Aramis unstoppered the vial. He brought it to his nose and sniffed very slightly. It wasn't strong, perhaps a peppery undertone, but didn't dislodge any memories.

"I'll see if the med techs at the Garrison have heard of it," Athos clicked of the video, about to send an email to Lemay the lead researcher, when movement caught his eye, "Shit!"

Aramis jumped backward, almost dropping the vial, "Christ Athos don't do that! What?"

"You've got company…" Athos watched as a SUV pulled up in front of the building, "Two males, don't know if they're headed to your floor but get moving."

"Here!" Aramis passed the vial to d'Artagnan, "Take this for a sample and fill the vial up with water. I'll sort the security tapes."

Tense minutes passed and Athos firmly ignored the knot of anxiety in his stomach. The two men entered the building, where Athos lost visual. There was minimal conversation between the three teammates as they worked but within 90 seconds the CCTV tapes were wiped and the two men were taking the back stairs three at a time.

They exited through the back door, and Athos, now in the front of van, was waiting for them. The moment they slammed van door shut their leader hit the accelerator and they were off.

"So what," d'Artagnan finally broke the silence as he tugged his chest cam off, "The tip was wrong?"

"Perhaps," Athos shrugged, his eyes never leaving the road. It was a good four hour journey back to Paris and he wanted to put as much distance between them and that building as he could, "Wouldn't be the first time we've had our time wasted…"

"But the room didn't match the blue prints," Aramis noted from his spot in the back.

Athos nodded, "Also true… I suppose we'll get more answers once we get that sample back to Lemay. You have it right, d'Artagnan?"

"Right here," the young man dug in his chest pocket and pulled out a small silver canister. It was a portable sample canister, would keep whatever was in it at 3 degrees for up to 18 hours.

d'Artagnan shimmied over the backseat to join his mentor for the drive, while Aramis stayed in the back despite their being space. Athos held in a sigh. He supposed, between those two at least, little had changed.

* * *

"Go get a couple hours sleep," Athos waved the pair away. It was a little before 8am and the Garrison was just waking up. Treville would want them for debrief, but with luck not until after midday. Aramis and d'Artagnan, if they could avoid fighting for long enough, could grab a couple of hours rest in the off duty room until their commander summoned them.

Himself? Well it wouldn't be the first time he had gone without sleep. Athos would rather get the sample to Lemay sooner rather than later. The whole mission had left an odd taste in his mouth. It hadn't been a failure, not by a long shot, but it hadn't been what it had expected. They had returned to the Garrison with more questions than they had left with. Athos hated questions.

The two men, blessedly too sleepy to continue their argument, sloped off to find a corner of the Garrison to collapse as Athos headed in the opposite direction.

The medical wing was housed on the other side of the Garrison, and, to be honest, Athos rarely had reason to go. They were all part of the same team, all musketeers, but the field units tended to keep themselves apart from the research teams. There wasn't animosity but… Those in the medical wing were academics, doctors and scientists with hundreds of PHDs between them. They were smart, and that was intimidating.

Still though, they held a skill set which Athos definitely lacked. He needed their help.

Besides Andrew Lemay wasn't so bad. Of all of those in the medical wing, the British born was far more willing to talk with the field units. Sure he was _very_ focused on his work, but, Athos supposed, so was he.

He let himself into the foreign building with his key card and headed for Lemay's lab. It might be early, but there was no way Lemay would have had a lie in when there was some mystery liquid to analyse.

Just as Athos predicted, Lemay was at his desk as he let himself through the glass doors. The man before him was perhaps a few years his senior, tall and thin with pale skin and a sleek dark hair which had a few lines of silver at the temples. His glasses were pushed up on the crown of his head, eyes pressed against a microscope.

"Morning, Lemay."

Athos' eyebrows shot up when the man jumped. He nudged his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose and pushed back from his desk.

"Athos!" Lemay smiled, "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in. How are you? Do you have that sample?"

Carefully he swung his backpack to the ground and retrieved the canister. Lemay's eyes lit up as he took it.

"I love something new to play with," Lemay took the canister and placed it into a sterile fume cabinet, "I asked around after I received your email, but no one's heard of RN6X either. Curious, however it could be fake name – or a code name…."

He slid his hands into the attached gloves and unscrewed the cap, pouring the liquid carefully into an awaiting test tube.

"And you said all the test tubes were marked the same?" Lemay asked as he worked, although didn't wait for Athos to reply as he carried on, "It's odd… Very odd... Especially with your intel being so off the mark… This could be nothing, although, if it was nothing, why not use the solution's real name..."

Athos nodded along, he had had much the same thought process on his way over.

"How long do you think, before..?"

"Hard to say I'm afraid…" Lemay's eyes never left his newest mystery, "I'll begin my tests, you will be the first to know when I find something…"

"And I thank you for that," Athos smiled, although it was missed by the man who was engrossed by his mystery. He picked up his back pack and turned for the door, "I look forward to hearing any news."

* * *

"So they _did_ speak," Porthos' eyebrows shot up.

Athos shrugged, his hands wrapped around his mug of the strongest coffee he could find. The pair were in their office, without the other two trouble makers who appeared to still be sleeping.

"They fought," Athos corrected, "They snapped at each other. That's hardly progress…"

Porthos didn't look so sure, "They've ignored each other for the last week. Talking is talking."

"You didn't have to listen to it."

"True, but I did have those three new recruits bitching my ear off because I made them run a little bit."

Athos snorted, "I've completed your endurance training, there's nothing _little_ about it."

"You're just getting soft I –"

However Porthos was going to defend himself was cut off the buzzing of Athos' phone against the table. His leader held up a finger and hit the accept button.

"This is Athos – Lemay, do you have news for-"

Porthos watched as his leader's face froze. He mouthed 'what?' towards him, but Athos didn't seem to notice.

"Me? N-no I didn't. I wasn't in the room, I was- Well the rest of unit 2. Aramis and d'Artagnan."

Colour drained from Athos' face, his breath feeling like it was turning to concrete in his throat.

"I sent them to get a few hours of sleep– No not home, in the off duty room- Right. Right I'll meet you there."

Athos was on his feet before the call was ended. Porthos mirrored his leader's actions, ready to follow him to wherever he led.

"What's going on?" Porthos asked as he turned as one towards the door.

"The, the liquid, it was – They are making bombs!" Athos stormed from the room. They turned forwards the stair case. The off duty was the two floors below their office space, where hopefully their two other members slept.

"But you said it wasn't a work shop-"

"It was a _lab_!" The words seemed to be tugged from Athos' throat, "Biochemical bombs. Our intel must have heard bomb and assumed explosives not an airborne virus!"

The penny dropped for Porthos as they made it to the stairwell. The pair took the stairs two at a time, step in step with each other.

"Tell me you guys didn't open that vial!"

"Not me, d'Artagnan did. Aramis fucking sniffed it!"

_Oh hell…_ Porthos swore as the pair reached the correct floor and broke into a run, _this was bad._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments and kudos! They mean so so much!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think!

**Blood Pact**

**Chapter 2**

d’Artagnan had woken up in some horrific situations before, but being shaken violently awake by men in masks was certainly up there with the worst. He let out a strangled shout, the white masks looming over his mind. Hands gripped his shoulders, tugging the young man into a sitting position. He attempted to fight the hands off, it was only when commands came from a familiar voice did he still.

“Easy, d’Artagan, _easy!”_ d’Artagnan took in the familiar blue eyes above him which shone out from above a white mask. The gaze of his mentor. The other two faces were strangers, so d’Artagnan just focused on the eyes he knew, the eyes he trusted without reservation, “It’s okay.”

“Athos, what’s going on?”

Arms pulled him up from the sofa he had been sleeping on, gloved hands beginning to roll up one of his sleeves.

“Sharp scratch, Sir.”

“Wha-“ d’Artagnan broke off with a curse as a needle slid into a vein in the crook of his arm. Someone else pressed a thermometer into his ear. When he tried to pull away he felt his head being held in place.

“ _Athos!_ ”

“It’s just a precaution,” Athos’s eyes flickered to the side. d’Artagnan’s gaze followed. On the other side of the room Aramis had been woken from his own slumber and was receiving much the same treatment. Two strangers were gathered around his sofa and d’Artagnan noted the dark curly hair of Porthos, face covered by a similar surgical mask. There was the rumble of his deep voice, eyes focused on Aramis’ stressed features, but d’Artagnan couldn’t focus on what was being said. His eyes flipped back to the two strangers around him, who’s hands were still pawing at his face and body.

“A precaution for _what?”_

“We believe you might have been exposed to a harmful airborne virus,” The stranger who was taking his temperature explained. He was tall, half a head taller than Athos, with glasses and dark hair, “Who have you been in contact with since you returned to the Garrison?”

“N-no one?” The thermometer beeped and was blessedly pulled back, “After I was dismissed I collapsed in here, with him.” He nodded in the direction of Aramis.

The man nodded, squinting at the digital display. It seemed he was only have listening.

“37.7,” The man muttered, “Slight fever.”

“Constance has had a cold!” d’Artagnan realised fairly quickly that no one was listening.

“I’ve got 37.9 over here!” A voice called from the group around Aramis.

The man who still held the thermometer nodded, as if a decision was made.

“I’m placing the room under quarantine. If you have you’re your samples I want you back in your labs. This is priority one. Any none essential staff out!”

d’Artagnan, although he was ashamed to admit it, felt a stab of panic when he watched Athos take a step back.

“You can’t just quarantine us! I’m fine! Athos you cannot let them just –“

“It will be fine d’Artagnan. Once your blood is tested –“

The dark haired man stepped between the two men, “Athos you need to leave, now.”

The older man’s eyes creased in frustration, but turned to do as he was told.

“Keep your phone on you d’Artagnan. I’ll be in touch. Everything will be fine – don’t worry.”

d’Artagnan fell back onto his sofa as the masked men filed out. The door was shut behind them, although thankfully there were panels of clear glass on either side of the wood, both about a foot wide, which gave him a snapshot of the outside world. He could see the tall man talking to Athos, who tore his mask off angrily. He jabbed a finger into the man’s chest and then pointed savagely at the closed of door. With a stiff nod the man turned on his heels and hurried off, Athos stalking behind him moments later.

He shot a look at Aramis, who looked just as stunned as he felt.

What had just happened?

* * *

 

“It was in the vial you brought back from the lab…” Athos explained later. Aramis had left his phone in the office, so when Athos had called d’Artagnan’s phone had been put on speaker phone. The iPhone was sat on a table, the two men facing it. d’Artagnan’s arms were crossed over his chest, fingers resting on his lips in concentration. Aramis, on the other hand, stalked around the phone like a caged animal.

“RN6X is a chemically altered influenza.”

“Influenza,” Aramis frowned, his feet pausing as he stared at the phone, “They think we have flu?”

“Most influenzas are harmless enough. Headache, fever, congestion,” Athos’ explained, “They only hold real danger to the young, old, or sick.”

d’Artagnan swallowed, worried he knew the answer to his next question, “So we can go?”

The silence before Athos’ answer was a fraction too long.

“This isn’t normal flu, d’Artagnan. Lemay is trying to map out the pathogen signature. We know it has been altered in some way, we just don’t know how yet. Until we do –“

“We’re stuck in here,” Aramis went pack to pacing again. His hand rose to his hair, tugging at it in frustration.

“It won’t be for long… You’re both tired anyway. Get some sleep, by the time you’ve woken up Lemay will have some good news.”

“Easy for you to say,” Aramis shot a glare toward the phone, “You’re not the one stuck in quarantine!”

“Aramis _please,”_ d’Artagnan could hear their leader’s groan in his words, “Take this as some enforced rest time.”

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan cut in before Aramis could keep complaining, which earned him a glare, “We’re fine in here. We feel fine. Just keep us in the loop, please?”

“Of course. You two will be the first to know of any developments. Perhaps you should call Constance? Let her know?”

d’Artagnan shook his head, “Why worry her over nothing? She is in school. I-“

A different voice was picked up by the phone and Athos cursed.

“I have to go, sorry. The moment I know anything, I will be in touch.”

Before either man could reply the call was disconnected. D’Artagnan frowned, although looked up just in time to see the older man pull his eyes hurriedly away. Aramis let out a growl and stalked away from the table, back to the far corner and his sofa. d’Artagnan watched him go, before settling back on his own.

It was clear Aramis didn’t want to talk to him – well fine. d’Artagnan was just as happy to comply with his wishes.

* * *

 

There was an unsettling silence in the research building. It made Athos nervous, or rather, more nervous. The labs were full, but the only noise coming from those rooms were the tapping of keyboards and the clicking of shoes. Lemay had talked Athos through what he could, but had then kicked him from the lab so he could continue his tests on the vial. Over the next two hours silence descended. It made Athos tense, though it was nothing compared to watching Porthos, who seemed intent on digging to the Earth’s core with his relentless pacing.

“Porthos…” Athos muttered when he could finally take no more.

The man gave no indication that he heard as kept up his incessant pacing. Athos pushed himself away from the wall he had been propped against.

“Porthos,” Athos reached out and pressed a hand against the man’s shoulder. He knew Porthos could easily shove past him, but the physical touch of a friend stilled his feet – finally, “You need to stop this.”

“I should have been there,” Porthos eventually looked up, his eyes were creased with a mixture of anxiety and guilt, “Aramis wouldn’t have been near that vial and I could have stopped d’Artagnan from opening the stupid thing.”

“Or you could be in there instead of them,” Athos gripped his shoulder a little bit harder, “Our lives are dangerous. It’s a risk we all run every time we go out in the field. They know that as well as either of us. We all accept that risk.”

Porthos shot a savage look at the floor, as if this whole situation was somehow the laminate’s fault. He didn’t look convinced.

“And besides,” Athos pressed, “We have no idea whether they are in any danger. This could all be one huge waste of time…”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Porthos scrubbed a hand across his curly dark hair.

“It’s what we’re all hoping for.”

The pair fell back into a silence, although it wasn’t long before footsteps broke the atmosphere. Athos glanced up to see Lemay in the doorway of his lab. The deep etches of worry on his forehead and around eyes made the man’s heart racing.

“Athos I… I have some news. If you could both –?” Lemay broke off and gestured towards the door. Athos followed the direction, Porthos close at his back.

They were met with a few large pictures up on LCD screens. Although neither man would consider themselves fluent in any scientific field, they did recognise them as viruses.

“What is this, Lemay?”

“The left is H3N2, an influenza A subtype, more commonly known as Hong Kong flu. It caused a pandemic in 1968 and killed an estimated 1 million people in Aisia…”

Athos nodded a little jerkily, “And the right?”

“That is the strain your men were exposed to from the infected vial,” Lemay tapped a few keys on his lap top and the photograph zoomed in, “There is more testing to be done, we have in no way completed an extensive make-up of the pathogen but-“

Athos held up a hand, “Lemay. What are you trying to say?”

Porthos bounced nervously at his side, arms crossed over his chest.

Lemay swallowed. His hand fluttered against the lab bench, “Our preliminary tests suggest that the virus has been engineered with four times the contagion rate of Hong Kong flu and, right now, it is showing a resistance to all vaccines which have been introduced.”

Cold realisation crashed over Athos as he stared up at the screen, apprehension rising through his throat.

“We still don’t know your men have been infected,” Lemay stressed, although his voice sounded oddly disconnected, far away, “I have my best team testing their samples, their results should be with us within an hour.”

Unsure of what else to do, Athos just nodded. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the images until he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. He turned and attempted a grateful smile, although he as fairly sure it came out a grimace. Instead he reached up and gripped Porthos’ wrist with a silent thanks. The big man nodded in understanding. Porthos always knew how to ground him back to reality.

“So,” Athos turned back, feeling minimally more pulled together, “If they are infected, what are they looking at? What should we expect?”

Lemay looked at little uncertain, “I can only speculate, but we can expect it to begin like any influenza; congestion, cough, that sort of thing. We can expect fatigue. What worries me is the fever and the risk of pneumonia. Of course they’re both healthy men, but if the primary infection sufficiently weakens them either could be… hazardous….”

Porthos’s hand tightened to a death grip on his leader’s shoulder as he spoke.

“How hazardous?”

“You have to understand,” Lemay began, “It is impossible to say for certain with an unknown strain-“

“Lemay don’t bullshit us,” Athos snapped at him, “It serves no purpose. You’re a smart man, give us your best estimate.”

The Englishmen puffed out a breath and ran a hand over his shaved jawline in discomfort.

“If the virus is sufficiently aggressive then in theory it has potential to become deadly.”

And there it was. Laid out before them in the lab. Athos nodded stiffly, ignoring the voices of panic which begun to scream murderous thoughts inside of his head. If he ever came face to face with those responsible for this…

But then, a dark voice reminded him, wasn’t that him? Wasn’t it him who had ordered those men, his friends, straight into this danger?

“I,” Athos dug into his pocket, ignoring the bile rising in the back of his throat, “I promised d’Artagnan an update. If you’ll excuse me-“

“Athos, you cannot tell them,” Lemay frowned.

“And why not?”

Lemay blinked, as it was obvious. But, he had to remind himself, he wasn’t talking to other doctors.

“The brain is a powerful thing. You cannot tell them for the same reasons we use placebos in drug trials. If you tell them the symptoms we are concerned they may develop, there’s every possibility their brain will begin to create them.”

“If you think I am going to _lie_ to my men Lemay –“The rest of Athos’ threat was lost as his phone, still in his hand, began to buzz. Athos held up a finger the moment he read _d’Artagnan’s_ name flashed up and hit answer.

“d’Artagnan? What’s going on?”

“Athos? Where are you?”

There was panic in the younger man’s voice. Athos’ stomach twisted nervously.

“I’m in the lab with Lemay. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m, I’m fine, but there’s something wrong with Aramis.”

* * *

 

“Athos is coming,” d’Artagnan promised as he hung up his phone, “He’s bringing that doctor, Lenny.”

Aramis groaned. He had fine only hours ago. Better than fine in fact. The quarantine had frustrated him to no end, being suck in close proximity with someone you weren’t currently talking to was far from ideal, but he had only expected it to last a few hours before being released.

But now his body _ached_. He couldn’t decide if he was hot or freezing, it seemed to switch from moment to moment. One instant he huddled into the sofa, coat wrapped around him like a blanket, the next his skin felt like it was on fire. When he’d awoken from his nap it had felt like his someone had left a boulder on his chest, leaving his breath shallow huffs and his throat dry.

“It’s Lemay…” Aramis coughed around the words.

d’Artagnan nodded. He ducked down next Aramis and pressed a hand to the elder man’s head. He huffed half-heartedly at the fuss, but he had to admit the boy’s cool hand felt wondrous on his feverous skin.

“You’re burning up…” d’Artagnan muttered. He dug into his back pack and tugged out his half empty water bottle. “Drink, idiot.”

Aramis wanted to throw some insult in return, but the water was too tempting. He took the bottle with a nod and gratefully downed what was left inside. It served as a relief from the razorblades in his throat, but all too soon the coughs and wheezes were back.

The young man rocked back on his heels, waiting for Aramis’ latest string of coughs to subside before he spoke. “So what do you think the chances of you getting sick is just some twisted coincidence?”

Aramis grimaced, “It would surely be appropriate. God has not been kind, why would I expect him to start now?”

The loaded words made d’Artagnan frown. Clearly something was hidden behind that half-truth, he couldn’t decide whether Aramis intended him to press for information. Thankfully, the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the sweeping of the door opening. Someone had added a plastic seal around the edges for the quarantine, which dragged along the laminate floor as it was opened.

The tall man – Lemay, d’Artagnan reminded himself - closed the door firmly behind him. He tugged a fresh lab coat over his suit, a mask encompassing his nose and mouth.

“Where’s Athos?” d’Artagnan frowned.

“I am the only one with access I am afraid, d’Artagnan is it?” Lemay placed his medical bag on the small table, “We need to keep contact to a minimum until we know what we are dealing with.”

Of course, he should have known Athos would not be permitted into the room, but d’Artagnan couldn’t help feel a pang of disappointment in his stomach.

Lemay didn’t seem to notice as he hooked a stethoscope around his neck and stepped forward. His eyes slid passed d’Artagnan to the man stretched out on the sofa.

“Aramis, I wish I was seeing you under better circumstances. Do you mind if I examine you?”

When he gave a shrug of consent the doctor set to work. d’Artagnan took a step back, watching the man set about his work, but a rap on the window made him turn. Athos and Porthos stood by one of the small windows, a phone held between them. In that moment his own began to buzz against his leg, which he answered gratefully.

“How is he?” Was Porthos’ first question.

“Coughing, fever, wheezing…” d’Artagnan shrugged, “We will know more once Lemay is finished, but it seems like normal flu.”

“For all we know it could be,” Porthos pressed, but Athos didn’t look so convinced by the man’s optimism.

“And you?” Athos pressed, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine… I mean, as fine as I can stuck in quarantine,” The young man’s eyes travelled between his two friend’s on the other side of the glass, “Has our blood come back?”

D’Artagnan couldn’t help but feel disappointment when Athos shook his head.

“Soon. It can’t be long now. What happened in there? You two were fine when we left…”

What had happened indeed? D’Artagnan sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I fell back asleep after we hung up. Must have been a couple of hours before I got woken up by Aramis coughing. He was fine when I went passed out but now… He’s burning up, shivering like he’s cold,” d’Artagnan glanced over his shoulder to where Lemay was listening to Aramis’ chest. “But isn’t this all quick? Flu take days before you start feeling ill. It’s not even been twelve hours.”

Athos and Porthos shared a look, one which was not lost on the young man. They knew something he didn’t…

“This isn’t normal flu, d’Artagnan,” Athos sighed eventually, “It’s stronger than the normal virus. Maybe it acts faster. And-“

Porthos gave his leader a pointed look, although it was promptly ignored by Athos as he continued.

“I was told not to tell you this but it is only fair you know. The techs have done tests on the strand of flu you were exposed to. Right now it’s showing resistance to all vaccines which have been tested.”

That revelation hit heavily in the pit of d’Artagnan’s stomach.

“Well,” He sighed finally, “It’s not as if a vaccine would have helped me now.”

There was a flash of emotion across Athos’ face, but as soon as the young man noticed it, it was gone.

“That is very fair. You really are quite the optimist.”

d’Artagnan, despite the situation, was relieved to see Athos’ half smile through the glass partition.

“I learn from the best.”

“d’Artagnan!” Lemay’s call made the younger man turn. The medic gestured to his side, “I need an extra pair of hands.”

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, d’Artagnan returned to sofa. A cool icepack had been placed on Aramis’ forehead and an IV had been placed in the back of his hand.

“Could you hold this for me?” Lemay pressed an IV of clear liquid into his hands, “Up high, good lad.”

D’Artagnan did has he was told, watching as the doctor connected the open tube to the port in Aramis’ hand.

“How, how is he doing?” d’Artagnan asked, ignoring the nervous twisting in his stomach.

Lemay didn’t look up from his work.

“Well I think the blood tests are a little redundant now…” Lemay checked the IV line for kinks, “The infection rate had been greatly accelerated. I’ve never seen a virus work this quickly.”

“Do I get a prize?” Aramis mumbled, eyes still closed under the ice pack.

“Yes you do,” Lemay opened the valve at the bottom of the IV and squeezed it to begin the medication, “Your prize is lots of antivirals hooked straight to your veins. Congratulations.”

Aramis “mmm”ed in response as d’Artagnan looked back to the doctor.

“And they will work? Athos said –“

The sharp look Lemay gave d’Artagnan made the words shrivel on his tongue.

“The antivirals will do you the world of good, Aramis. I suggest you get some sleep, when you wake up you’ll be well on the way to your normal self.”

A cough erupted from deep inside Aramis’ chest but he settled quickly after it relented.

“Whatever you say, Doc…”

Lemay took the IV bag from d’Artagnan’s hand and placed it high on the bookshelf behind Aramis’ sofa.

“d’Artagnan? A word?”

Lemay motioned away from Aramis’ bed side, and led the younger man away out of earshot.

When he turned, d’Artagnan could he had said something wrong. Lemay’s eyes were thunderous as they narrowed over his mask, effectively nailing the younger’s feet to the floor.

“What, exactly, did Athos tell you?”

“Not much…” d’Artagnan had the sudden feeling dropped Athos in it. “He told me the vaccines you have tested have had no effect. It’s true isn’t it?”

Lemay pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and mumbled a couple of dark words in English. Although d’Artagnan didn’t speak the language, the tone the words were offered in left little doubt that they were curses.

“Athos was asked not meant to share that…” He muttered in French finally.

“But it’s true?”

Lemay sighed, “Yes it’s true…”

d’Artagnan frowned, his gaze shooting over to the man on the other side of the room, before returning to the doctor.

“But we know the antivirals will definitely work,” He pressed, “Right?”

Silence passed over the pair. Lemay rubbed a hand over his forehead, avoiding the younger man’s gaze.

“No,” He admitted finally, “I honestly have no idea. The virus is so new, right now we are just making stabs in the dark. The medication won’t do your friend any harm, but I’m afraid I can’t make any promises beyond that.”

d’Artagnan let out a shaky breath as he digested the information. Eventually he nodded.

A beep from Lemay’s pocket sent a gloved hand digging into his lab coat. He pulled out a phone and d’Artagnan watched as his thumb scrolled through whatever was on the screen.

“Your bloods are back,” Lemay looked up, “Congratulations, you’re clean.”

A breath of relief rushed out of him. d’Artagnan sagged back against the wall at his back.

“And Aramis?”

Lemay shook his head, “You know the answer…”

D’Artagnan nodded. Aramis’ wheezy breath had evened out in sleep, dark curls slick against his head and pale skin tinged unnaturally pale. His hand was still stretched out, the IV connected to the needle in his vein, pumping medicine into his body which might be useless.

“You can go,” Lemay’s voice jarred d’Artagnan out of his musings.

The man looked back with a frown, “What?”

“Your bloods are negative, d’Artagnan. You’re not infected, there’s no need for you to stay in quarantine.”

“What about him?”

Lemay shook his head.

“I can’t risk moving him. It would put the whole Garrison at risk. We have to contain the threat, right now Aramis is a serious risk.”

Of course… d’Artagnan nodded a little absently.

“What are the risks to me if I stay? I’ve been around the vial, around Aramis, I’m not infected. Is it likely to happen if I stay?”

The question took Lemay aback for a moment. He frowned, considering the question.

“That’s a question I can’t answer. It is possible, if you have come into contact with a similar virus before and lived, you may have natural antibodies which can fight off the infection. But it’s just as possible that you have just been very, _very_ , lucky. That, after prolonged exposure, you will become infected like Aramis.”

d’Artagnan swallowed, looking between Lemay and his sick friend in the bed.

Were they even still friends? They had spent the last week ignoring each other and truth be told d’Artagnan was still nursing hurt from his pin ceremony. Aramis hadn’t been there for him, why should he stay now?

But d’Artagnan knew what decision he would make. Their fight didn’t matter. His hurt didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Aramis, beyond anything else in the world, hated two things. One was sushi (which to be honest d’Artagnan agreed with) but the other was being alone. The man’s pride would never allow him to admit it, as Porthos had pointed out to him one night in his Apprenticeship. They had been stationed as look outs, stuck in an abandoned warehouse while Athos and Aramis had infiltrated the building opposite.

_“He’d never say it himself,” Porthos had muttered to d’Artagnan as he watched their teammates through his binoculars. It had been in response to d’Artagnan’s question about Aramis’_ _many lovers. “And he’d likely shoot me for saying it, but he’s terrified of being alone.”_

_“But wouldn’t it be better,” d’Artagnan thought back to his own wife, to Constance, “To be with one person who you knew wouldn’t leave, rather than a dozen who might?”_

_“And that is easy to say from the other side looking on. But imagine he found that person. Someone who he could trust not to leave. So he showed that one person his true self, he pulled back the layers of bravado and humour, let them see what’s underneath,” Porthos paused, shooting their youngest a sideways look before going back to the scene through his binoculars. “And Aramis would then run the risk of watching that person walk away because they didn’t like that they saw.” Porthos let out a sigh, “What could be more painful than that?”_

_“So he would rather be surrounded by people he doesn’t care about, just in case the one which he does leaves him alone?”_

_“I never said it was a good strategy,” Porthos passed the binoculars to d’Artagnan to have a look, “But that’s Aramis…”_

No matter how angry d’Artagnan was, no matter how hurt he was, he wouldn’t leave Aramis alone now. Not while we was sick, not while he was in danger.

d’Artagnan shook his head, “I have to stay. I can’t leave him alone.”

He had expected Lemay to fight him, but instead he clapped the younger man on the shoulder.

“You’re a good man, d’Artagnan…”

“Or a stupid one.”

“Perhaps both?”d’Artagnan offered the smallest of smiles as Lemay stepped back. “I’ll have some food sent up to you. Make sure Aramis keeps drinking water, if he worsens let me know.”

Lemay turned away, towards the door, although stopped at d’Artagnan’s parting words.

“Don’t tell Athos, please Lemay,” d’Artagnan swallowed, “Don’t tell him about my bloods. He will only worry.”

Lemay gave the young man a long, hard look, before finally nodding, “If that’s what you wish. Be safe, d’Artagnan.”

d’Artagnan nodded and watched as the doctor retreated from the room. As the door shut behind him he turned back to face the room he was now voluntarily stuck in. Instead of returning to his sofa, d’Artagnan opted for an arm chair nearer to Aramis’ sleeping form.

Or supposedly sleeping.

As d’Artagnan collapsed onto the upholstery Aramis coughed again and cracked one eye open.

“What did the good doctor want?” Aramis asked. There was a crackle to his voice, a wheeze which made the younger man uncomfortable. The shallow breaths did not sound healthy. “Did our bloods come back?”

“Hmm?” d’Artagnan pretended to be preoccupied with his phone before looking up, “Yea they did. Nothing we didn’t already know. Both positive. Guess we’re stuck with each other…”

Aramis nodded, although frowned around another cough.

“Then why aren’t you sick?”

d’Artagnan offered a shrug, “Who knows. It’s only a matter of time. Maybe it’s just because I’m younger, stronger?”

“Come over here and say that…” Aramis muttered, although there was no bite to his words, “The cheek of youth.”

“Just go to sleep,” d’Artagnan kicked his feet up on the arm of the chair, “Give the meds a chance to work. I’ll wake you up when they bring up some food…”

“Kay…” Aramis turned over on the sofa, his eyes closed once again.

d’Artagnan watched the man for a few moments, before looking back down at his phone. Maybe it was time to tell Constance what was going on…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you everyone for so much feedback! You have no idea how much I looooove reading them! <3 
> 
> Here's Chapter 3, I hope lives up to the wait!

Food and blankets had been delivered a little while later. d’Artagnan had roused Aramis who’d attempted a little soup before asking to sleep again. The sofa had been made into a makeshift bed with blankets and Aramis had curled up, arm poking out carefully so his IV wasn’t obstructed. It was his breathing which worried d’Artagnan, the coughs often covered it, but his breaths were coming hard and laboured. There was almost a crackle in his throat, it reminded the young man of treading on autumn leaves.

Whatever it was, d’Artagnan thought from his view point on the arm chair by his friend’s head, it wasn’t healthy.

The pair stayed that was for a good few hours – well into hour 10 of the quarantine – when a knock on the glass window pane shattered the quiet in the room. d’Artagnan jumped. He turned, in his seat and his eyes focused on the intruder.

Constance held her phone to her ear, d’Artagnan’s beginning to ring a moment later. He couldn’t help but think beautiful she was, even with a nervous expression painted across her features. She had clearly come straight from class, he recognised her navy book bag at her feet. Her hair was wild around her face, loose and curly which gave d’Artagnan the urge to anchor his hands in it and breath in the scent which was Constance – honey and books and… Just her…

“Hi…” d’Artagnan answered his own phone when he reached the window pane.

“I just got your message,” Constance’s free hand slid up to the glass, her wedding ring glinting the over-head light. D’Artagnan reached up, lining his own jewellery up with hers, “I was in the library late, my phone was – well it doesn’t matter… What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine, please don’t worry,” d’Artagnan sighed.

“And Athos? What about Aramis and Porthos? What were you all exposed too?”

d’Artagnan shook his head, unsure of how much to tell Constance, how much without worrying her.

“Some virus… We were stupid. We opened a vial and… Well now we’re here. Porthos and Athos are fine, they weren’t with us, but Aramis…” d’Artagnan stepped sideways and looked behind him. Constance’s eyes followed, a whine dropping from her lips when she saw the older man. There wasn’t much of Aramis to be seen, just his pasty face and IV line.

“Is he okay?”

d’Artagnan didn’t know how to respond, in the end he just shrugged, “I wish I knew… The doctors have never seen a virus like this one. They’re trying their best for him, for us, but this is all unknown for them.”

Constance nodded a little numbly, “But you’re not sick? You’re sure?”

“I promise,” d’Artagnan nodded. It was true now, even if it might not be true forever. Constance didn’t need to know that.

“Then come home?”

“I’m sorry…” He didn’t _like_ worrying Constance. He knew she worried about his work with the Musketeers. She might not vocalise it, but Constance was no fool. She knew the dangers her husband faced, hell d’Artagnan had been shot not 3 months ago!

Of course she worried… It was no surprise.

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan repeated, “I can’t leave him…”

Constance nodded in sad understanding, “Has anyone called Anne?“

“Anne?” d’Artagnan frowned, “Madame Royaline? Why would we have called her?”

Constance opened her mouth, her eyes narrowing in hurt, “She’d want to know… Hasn’t Aramis told you-“

Constance’s words broke off when an eruption of coughs exploded from behind her husband.

d’Artagnan turned, “Aramis?”

The older man was doubled over, coughs wracking through his entire body. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, but the bloom of crimson over the blankets was alarming.

“Aramis!”

The man coughed again, blood dripping from his mouth to mingle with his beard and run down his chin.

d’Artagnan leapt from the glass as if scalded.

“Call Athos. Tell him to get Lemay here – NOW!”

* * *

 

By the time Lemay arrived at the door, hurriedly tugging his mask onto his face, d’Artagnan had Aramis sat up, bowl on his lap and water bottle in pressed to his mouth.

“When did this start?” Lemay demanded, down to business immediately. He swatted down next to the two men, assessing the situation for a moment before him.

“Fifteen minutes, perhaps?” d’Artagnan set the water bottle down, looking nervously from his friend to Lemay. Lemay however was focused his patient. He pressed a thermometer into Aramis’ ear. The young man let out a shiver as Aramis allowed the invasion without comment or complaint, it was quite unlike the man d’Artagnan had come to know.

Sputtered, rasping coughs exploded again from Aramis, dark beads of blood dripping into the bowl he clutched.

“Thought I was meant to be feelin’ better..?” Aramis muttered, just as the thermometer beeped.

“It seems the antivirals haven’t worked,” Lemay pulled the instrument back and swore, loudly, “39.6…”

“Always knew I w’s hot…” Aramis’ head lulled back. His skin was waxy, grey and frustratingly devoid of sweat. His fever seemed to be stubbornly refusing to break.

“Are you in pain, Aramis?” Lemay pressed.

Aramis “mmm”ed in a response.

“Where?”

“Chest, when I breathe…”

Lemay nodded. He dug into his medical bag, revealing a nasal cannula and a small canister.

“I’m going to give you some pure oxygen, it should help ease the strain on your lungs. d’Artagnan, can you..?”

The younger man nodded. He took the canister as Lemay expertly hooked the thin tube over Aramis’ ears and into his nose. Once he had finished he took back the canister and unlocked the valve.

“Gentle breaths, Aramis,” He instructed calmly, “In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go… Better?”

Aramis nodded a little heavily. His eyes closed and his head lulled back against his pillows. Lemay returned to his medical bag, rummaging only for a few moments before withdrawing his stethoscope. He placed the buds in his ears and the metallic circle on under Aramis’ shirt. d’Artagnan watched the doctor’s lips move silently as he counted 10 laboured breaths, winced, then drew back.

“While it’s impossible to know for certain without an x-ray,” Lemay sighed, his tired eyes creasing over the top of his mask, “But it seems the virus has spread to his lungs. The crackle in when he breaths in and out suggests pneumonia…”

“What does that mean?” d’Artagnan asked for Aramis, since he seemed distracted with his deep breathing.

Lemay tugged another, smaller, IV bag from his medical kit. “Normally a progression of strong antibiotics, which of course we will still start immediately, but…” The doctor wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his lab coat.

d’Artagnan frowned, “But?”

“The antivirals had no effect. There’s no guarantee the antibiotics will herald a different outcome.”

The news sat heavily in d’Artagnan’s chest as he turned to look at his friend. Aramis’ eyes were still shut, it seemed he was concentrating hard on his slow breaths. The oxygen did seem to have helped, but the shuddering breaths were still laboured, still had a rasping undertone.

“We don’t know that they won’t?” d’Artagnan ventured, shooting a sideways look at Lemay.

Lemay nodded. He gripped the bag in one hand and pushed himself to his feet.

“Very true, d’Artagnan… Right, Aramis let’s get this hooked up to you.”

* * *

 

“I thought I’d find you here…”

Athos looked up from his spot on the floor.

“Where else would I be? Those are my men…”

Treville nodded. He took a step closer to his most trusted agent and offered his hand, which Athos reluctantly took. The elder man hauled him to his feet, before gripping his shoulder tightly.

“Now I know you’re not out here, doing something moronic like blaming yourself are you?” Treville gave Athos a hard look, “Because that will solve nothing and would be a waste of time when it’s not your fault.”

Athos sighed. He had said as much to Porthos some 11 hours ago. He had meant it too, but now? Athos’ eyes slid to the glass pane. Lemay had left half an hour ago, muttering something about needing to get back to his tests, leaving Aramis and d’Artagnan alone. He had meant to try and rouse their youngest by phoning him again, but he seemed to intent on Aramis’ sleeping form to be disturbed.

 _How long will it be before he starts coughing blood aswell?_ A dark voice questioned Athos, _Have you signed his death certificate too?_

“I just…” Athos sighed. He shoved a hand through his hair, tugging it at the roots, “I want them safe. I want them out.”

“We all do,” Treville promised, “Every agent is thinking of your men in there, but you being a one man silent vigil out here isn’t helping.”

“Porthos and Constance were here too… He took her to get coffee…” Treville gave him a warning look, which made Athos sigh again. “Well that do you want me to do?”

“I want you to think like an agent. Those men are you friends, I understand, Athos believe me I do but I need my best agent with his head in the game.”

 _Head in the game…_ Athos felt like screaming. How was he meant to do that when only one room away his friend was possibly…

Athos’ head turned again, taking in the image in the next room once again. Aramis had settled it seemed; face still pale, tubes hooked into his nose, but for now at least the coughs had subsided. d’Artagnan was still sat on the floor, his head settled on the corner of the sofa cushions by Aramis’ side. Perhaps they were both asleep, or resting, or praying the new medication to work.

“Athos!” Two strong hands fell on Athos’ shoulders. Treville turned Athos’ body until the man had no choice but to face his commanding officer. “That film your men risked their _lives_ to shoot shows over 50 of those vials, 50 possible bombs waiting to attack the public. If we don’t use that information, if we don’t _stop_ those bombs, then Aramis’ sacrifice means nothing. He and d’Artagnan’s bravery will mean _nothing_!”

He was right of course. Athos hated to admit it, but Treville was always right.

“Fine…” Athos nodded his head finally, “Fine. What do you need?”

“Units five and six are being dispatched within the hour to raid the lab,” Treville turned, leading Athos with a strong arm still on his shoulder, “I need you to walk them through the footage in the briefing room. You saw it first hand, you know it best.”

Units five and six, Ninon and Samara’s teams. They were good, and more importantly they worked well together. Athos nodded joltingly.

“And I’m briefing,” He shot his commanding officer a sideways glance, “Thanks all?”

“That’s all,” Treville nodded as he ushered Athos out into the corridor, “As much as I’d like to have you leading the raid team I have to be realistic. You need to be here, but they still need your expertise in briefing.”

Athos nodded, as he watched Treville hit the button on the lift.

“So who is leading the units?”

“Ninon. She has more experience than Samara leading an inter-group operation.” The lift opened with a ding and Athos stepped inside. Treville, however stayed in the corridor. “There waiting for you in Briefing room 2.”

The metal doors began to close around Athos but he slid his hand between the doors. The lift halted. He held his Commander’s gaze. The man had picked him up from the gutter, had given him a second chance which he, by rights, didn’t deserve. Athos knew that, if nothing else, Treville would never lie to him.

“If Aramis’ condition changes…” ‘ _Gets worse’_ Athos added in his head, “You’ll have me called?”

Treville nodded, “Of course.”

Athos withdrew his hand, allowing the doors to shut between them.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

“I’m sorry…”

d’Artagnan frowned, only half awake. He raised his head from its place on the cushion next to Aramis’ side, attempting to ignore the knot in his neck. Night had descended in the quarantine room while he had dozed. The young man supposed he should move to turn on the light, but right now he was more interested the sick man above him, who was supposed to be asleep.

“You, what?”

“I’m sorry.”

Carefully d’Artagnan sat back on his heels and focused his attention on the man above him. If it was even possible, Aramis looked even worse. Fever shone in his eyes, his skin greyed and clammy. His breath was now coming in shudders, even with the nasal cannula easing some of the tension. It seemed the antibiotics (bag now half empty) was doing nothing to help Aramis’ breathing – d’Artagnan barely supressed a flinch at the realisation.

“I should call Lemay. You’re getting worse…” d’Artagnan turned in search of his phone but Aramis’ hand found his shoulder.

“Just listen, won’t you?” There was a touch of irritation in his voice which, d’Artagnan supposed, was what set fire to his temper.

“Not if you’re going to give me some guilt ridden, death bed apology!” He shoved back, away from Aramis’ hand.

“d’Artagnan…”

“No! You don’t get to do this!” d’Artagnan pointed an accusatory finger at Aramis, who just blinked back, too tired do much else. “You don’t get to apologise just to make yourself feel better! Get better and then I’ll take your _sorry_! I’m not listening to it just so you feel better because you’re scared you’re going to _die_!”

A beat of silence passed between the two men.

“Are you,” Aramis broke off to cough, thankfully there seemed to be no blood, “Quite done?”

d’Artagnan sighed. He raked a hand through his hair. The outburst had burned out the pent out stress inside his chest, as much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes…”

“Then will you sit down?”

Ignoring the voice in his head which demanded he ran, d’Artagnan settled himself cross legged on the floor, facing his friend.

“I’m still not accepting your apology until you offer it standing up…” He muttered, feeling more and more like a sullen child.

Aramis nodded his head in apparent defeat, “As you wish… But will you at least listen?” He waited for a not before he continued. “The day of your pin ceremony. I – I got a phone call… I was going to be there, I _wanted_ to be there d’Artagnan I did but Anne called me…”

d’Artagnan had assumed as much that day. He vaguely remembered the phone call around late morning. The conversation had been muttered, whispered then, full of excuses, Aramis had flown from the office. “She asked me to meet her, said it was important… I told her I could that evening but –“ Aramis paused and ran his tongue over his cracked lips, “She was desperate... Said if I ever cared about her I would come. So, so I did…”

The younger man’s mind drifted back to Constance’s earlier words.

_Hasn’t Aramis told you…_

What had Aramis been keeping from him, from his friends, for the last week?

“She’s pregnant, d’Artagnan…” Aramis voice cracked, “She’s pregnant. Anne did the math. Said it had to be mine... My child.”

“Aramis…” d’Artagnan breathed out the name, but Aramis shook his head with eyes tightly closed and continued.

“I got down on one knee. I thought that was what she wanted. I, I would have married her, I _wanted_ to marry her... She said no…”

Violent coughs shook through Aramis’ body once again, pausing the story. d’Artagnan carefully helped his friend drink a few sips. He nodded thankfully before continuing.

“She won’t leave him…” Aramis’ voice quiet, resigned. “That asshole, Royaline. Said it would destroy his political career. Anne is going to stay with that bastard, stay with him and my child is going to grow up with his last name.”

Aramis fell silent for a moment and d’Artagnan used the time to take in the onslaught of information. The revelation left him... Well d’Artagnan didn’t know what to think. For the last week he had harboured his hurt, assuming Aramis had ditched the ceremony for some secretive meeting with a woman. He had been half right, and yet completely wrong.

“I hear you and Lemay, you know,” Aramis swallowed around his words, his voice dry and cracked from over use, “When you think I'm sleeping... I know nothing is working…”

d’Artagnan frowned, “Yet… Lemay is working on it, all of them are. You don’t get to give up now, not before we’ve tried everything.”

“I’m not, I’m not giving up,” Aramis’s head shook across the pillows, “But if it doesn’t work, I want someone to know. Someone needs to know that that child is mine. If I can’t be there it eases my heart to know someone is looking out for them.”

Aramis hand slid out and found d’Artagnan’s wrist. The grip was far from the agent’s usual strength, rather a claw of desperation, “I need your word that you will not tell a soul, promise me d’Artagnan…”

“I, I swear it…” d’Artagnan swallowed around the boulder sized lump in his throat, “But you won’t need me. You’ll be around to watch over this kid yourself. You hear me?”

A small smile slide across Aramis’ tired face, “Yea I do… You’re a good man, far better than I.”

“And now you’re delirious with fever…” d’Artagnan matched Aramis’ expression with his own small smirk, “Now get some sleep… You can wake up to some good news.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m sure you have all heard about the men this virus has already poisoned.”

Athos looked into the face of each agent in the room as his briefing came to a close. He had walked them though the video, given his expertise, now though? He wanted to make sure the agents in front of him knew the importance of this mission, even more so than usual. There were eight all together, three woman and five men. He knew them all to some degree although had only worked with a few of them, but trusted every one. That came with being part of the Musketeers, they may be split into core units but they were part of the larger group, a team.

They would be out to avenge Aramis and d’Artagnan just as much as Athos.

“We have two in quarantine, one in critical condition,” Athos fought to keep his face neutral as he addressed a group, “I refuse lose any more good men and women to this. You are to contain the bio-hazard, detain those responsible and, most importantly, keep yourselves safe. We now know that this virus is capable of, do not underestimate it. Watch each other’s backs, good luck, all of you.”

With a nod the agents began moving. Athos turned, ready to make a bee-line back to the quarantine but a hand closed on his elbow.

“Samara?” Ninon called out, hand still demanding the leader of unit 2’s attention, “Double check everyone’s breathing respirators. One for every agent entering that building. No acceptations.”

Samara, all five foot nothing of her, was Ninon’s opposite in every way. The daughter of Moroccan immigrants, Samara had been handed nothing in life. She’d worked since she was thirteen, paid her way through university and gained a joint first class honours degree in Arabic and French, followed by a Masters in interpreting. From there she had joined the police, where she had risen through the ranks, until the Musketeers had found her three years ago.

Ninon, by contrast, was born into one of the oldest lineages in France. No expense had been spared in her upbringing or education; boarding school in England, undergraduate degree in France, Masters and PHD from MIT in engineering and computer programming.

On paper it seemed as if the pair would have nothing in common, but in reality their different lives and approaches to leadership complimented each other. Athos had to admit, the two were perfect to run such an important operation.

Samara dipped her head, assessing the situation before her. Ninon wanted a moment with Athos? She could facilitate that.

“Ready to leave in 5?”

Ninon nodded, “5 at the van. I’ll be there.”

With that Samara set off, calling out to the different members. Once she saw their respirator she sent them off to the van. Once Ninon was happy her instructions were being followed she turned back to Athos. Concern slipped as a shadow across her eyes.

“How are they?”

“Both bloods were positive,” Athos, after a careful check that the other agents were busy preparing, let out a sigh. He scrubbed a hand threw his hair, only vaguely aware of its desperate need for a wash. Some things just had to wait. “Aramis is the only one who’s symptomatic so far. Last I saw he was being pumped full of useless antibiotics with a sky high fever. Lemay says his biggest danger isn’t the influenza anymore, but the pneumonia and what may happen if his fever doesn’t break.”

A tightness spread across Ninon’s face. Her hand was still on Athos’ shirt sleeve.

“That man of yours is two things, Athos. A terrible judge of character, and frustratingly stubborn,” Ninon’s fingers tightened ever so slightly, “Aramis won’t go down without a fight.”

“Thanks,” Athos offered nod, hoping that was the case.

“Don’t mention it,” Ninon dropped her hand and stepped around the unit 2 leader, headed for the door. She turned back, shooting one of her best icy looks over her shoulder, “And I mean that. Can’t let it getting out that I have a heart.”

Athos, for the first time since this whole disaster had begun, felt a genuine smile tug at his lips, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the last of the raid team filed from the briefing room his phone began buzzing against his leg.

“Hello?” Athos answered.

“I need you at the lab.”

Athos frowned, “Lemay?”

“Now!” The researcher demanded, then hung up as Athos took off towards the medical wing at a run.

* * *

 

The coughing returned not an hour later. d’Artagnan knelt at Aramis’ side, helping him turn so he didn’t choke on his own blood, and rinse out his mouth following the attacks.

They had stopped speaking, both aware Aramis’ effort should be spent on breathing rather than communication. The last time Aramis had spoken was in response to d’Artagnan’s suggestion to phone Lemay. He had shaken his head and muttered, “There’s nothing he can do.”

Heat radiated of the agent’s body. d’Artagnan knew with a sinking feeling that his temperature had skyrocketed. He knew from his basic first aid that over 40 degrees was the real danger zone and d’Artagnan would be willing to bet they were passed that point now. A damp cloth was applied to Aramis’ forehead, but it seemed to do nothing in the face of the fire thundering through his veins. He had briefly considered an ice bath but there was no way Aramis’ lungs would cope with such a sharp temperature drop.

The traitorous part of d’Artagnan’s mind wondered if he should call the rest of the team, just in case, but no, it wasn’t time for that…

In a moment of quiet between the attacks d’Artagnan allowed himself a moment to sag against the sofa. It was the silence that made him realise how exhausted he was. His eyes slid closed, listening to his friend’s laboured, heavy, breathing.

It was a knock, rather than another round of coughing, which forced d’Artagnan back to a start of full alertness. He rolled his neck with a sigh. He had expected Athos, or Porthos, but not a stranger on the other side of the glass.

The woman was tall and thin with a natural grace which would be the enemy of many. Her hair was a dark, dusty blonde which fell in waves across her shoulders. She looked completely out of place in the Garrison corridor, clothed as she was in a floor length navy gown, with a plunging neckline and lace sleeve. A familiar denim jacket was wrapped across her shoulder, one d’Artagnan knew often hung on a hook on the back of his bedroom door.

“What the…” d’Artagnan pushed off the side of the sofa, careful not to rouse the resting friend, just as his phone began to buzz.

As he pressed the accept button Constance appeared at the side of the stranger. Her eyes flicked nervously from her husband to the figure in the bed.

“How is he?” She asked before d’Artagnan’s phone had completely reached his ear.

With a heavy sigh d’Artagnan shook his head, “Bad.”

Well there was no point in lying. He watched Constance’s lips thin into a line. For a horrendous second d’Artagnan thought she may cry. He didn’t think he could cope with that in that moment.

“Is that..?” d’Artagnan steered the conversation from more dangerous territory, looking instead to the woman to Constance’s left. She, however, wasn’t looking at either of them. Her face was schooled into a blank slate, but her eyes were locked on Aramis’ face as if there was no one else in the room.

“Anne Royaline,” Constance nodded to d’Artagnan’s half question.

“Did you call her? Constance, she shouldn’t be here…”

She _shouldn’t!_ Not in the Garrison. Constance wasn’t even supposed to be in the Garrison.

“I know…” The young woman sighed, “I know. I’m sorry. I had Porthos collect her with me. I know the Garrison is authorised access only but she needed to know. Just, please?”

She reached up and touched the older woman’s shoulder. Anne jumped, as if she had forgotten Constance was even there. She smiled a little apologetically and took the phone when it was offered.

“d’Artagnan,” Anne only then turned her gaze to the young man, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, although I wish it was under better circumstances. I realise I have little right to ask anything of you, but your wife has assured me of your discretion.”

d’Artagnan felt his head nod, “Of course, Madame Royaline.”

“Thank you for that,” She inclined her head very slightly as her eyes slid back to Aramis, “Tell me, Constance has said some but… How is he?”

“I’m not a doctor…” d’Artagnan began, but the woman held up a hand.

“Please,” Anne cut him off, an edge of desperation in his voice, “I’m aware of that but Aramis is a, a friend of mine, please tell me what you can.”

d’Artagnan turned his own gaze, following Anne’s, “I wish I could tell some good news… The virus we were exposed spread to his lungs. The doctors here have tried antivirals and antibiotics but nothing has worked. The oxygen has eased some of the pressure on his lungs for a while but he seems to be getting worse.”

Anne sucked in a breath, forcing herself to remain composed.

“So what are the doctor’s next treatment plan?”

There isn’t one… That dark voice muttered in the back of the young agent’s mind.

“He hasn’t shared it with me.”

Constance slipped her hand back onto her friends arm. Anne looked back to her and attempted a small smile. It looked far from genuine.

A groan from the sofa pulled the full attention of all three people.

Aramis look up, squinting from his position on the sofa. He coughed, but not the kind of body shuddering, blood inducing, rather the attempted clearing of his throat.

“Surely this is a fever dream,” Aramis’ voice clawed its way up from his throat, “Why is God so cruel?”

In a few quick steps d’Artagnan was at his side, crouched down next to the sofa. Aramis’ eyes never left Anne.

“You… Called her?”

d’Artagnan shook his head, “Constance…”

“Ah…”

“d’Artagnan?” Anne’s voice wafted up from his phone, he had for momentarily forgotten he was even holding it.

Quickly he raised it to his ear, “Forgive me, Madame...”

“May I… Speak with Aramis?”

d’Artagnan frowned, his eyes flicking back to his friend’s face. Aramis was so weak, was it really a good idea. He was tempted to say no, but Aramis had heard the question.

Aramis swallowed and gave the smallest of nods, “Please?”

With some hesitation, d’Artagnan helped settle the phone between Aramis’ ear and the pillow before shuffling back. He could make out the mumblings of Anne on the other end of the phone, but could only understand Aramis’ side of the conversation.

A brief pause and then.

“There’s no need to be sorry…”

Pause.

“This is not your doing.”

Pause.

“Treville is raiding the lab, the virus will be destroyed. No one else will get hurt.”

Pause and then Aramis frowned.

“Anne, please, please don’t…”

d’Artagnan looked back to the window. Madame Royaline’s professional demeanour had finally shattered as tears filled her eyes. Her hand slipped onto her, still flat, stomach. Whatever she said down the phone had Aramis squeezing his eye shut, desperately attempting to control his own emotions.

“Please, I’m not –“

Pause.

“Because I can’t bare hearing you cry.”

Pause.

“Well I’m not dead yet…”

Pause.

“What would I be without my reckless optimism?”

Aramis looked like he was on the verge of a smile, before his torso began to convulse in yet another coughing fit. The phone fell from its resting place as Aramis’ shoulders jerked violently upwards. d’Artagnan surged forward, helping Aramis struggle upwards so the blood from his lungs wouldn’t continue to choke him. His hand gripped onto his friend’s shoulders, silently counting the seconds until Aramis relaxed in his grip.

Carefully d’Artagnan settled him back to the sofa, trying his best to keep the concern from his face. Aramis’ eyes were half closed and unfocused, his breaths slow and shuddering.

When the young agent glanced back to the window, water bottle in hand, his heart sunk in realisation that the window was now empty of both women.

* * *

 

Lemay was near frantic when Athos burst through the door of his lab.

“I have a theory…” Lemay crossed the lab at lightning speed, barely even looking at the dishevelled leader of unit 2. The lab, which had been pristine on Athos’ first visit, now looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Research books which had been neatly tucked away by author on a high shelf were news littering the work space, all open to different sections, papers with notes scribbled on them here and there strewn over the remaining counter space. Athos looked around him, taking in the chaos, before settling his eyes back on Lemay, who was furiously hitting buttons on one of his many machines.

Athos, despite himself, felt his heart thud against his chest.

“To help Aramis?”

Lemay nodded as he flipped the lid of the device open and withdrew a test tube. It was maybe above two thirds of the way filled with a clear liquid.

“In theory, in theory, it could work…”

Athos frowned, watching indecision flicker across the lead researcher’s face.

“What?”

Lemay deposited the liquid into a small vial and sealed it shut before he looked up.

“I’ve not tested it. The science is all there, it should work, but there’s no time to do so properly,” For a moment Lemay looked unsure of himself.

Athos swallowed, realising the problem, “If we don’t, what other options have we got? What chance does Aramis have?”

The question hung thick in the air between them. Lemay ducked his eyes away from Athos as he tugged his gloves from his hands.

“Next to none.”

“Well then,” Athos nodded, decision made, “I suggest we get up to quarantine. Where did this thing come from?”

Lemay packed the vial safely into his medical bag.

“I’ll tell you on the way. I only ask you don’t kill your youngest agent…”

* * *

 

“Hey… Hey, Aramis it’s okay…” d’Artagnan replaced the cool cloth, freshly soaked in water, onto Aramis’ head.

The new coolness settled the agent’s stirrings for a moment. d’Artagnan wasn’t sure how aware Aramis was of his surroundings. His fever was too high, scarily high. One minute he had been quiet but lucid, the next his eyes had slid to half mast, words mumbled incoherently. A quiet Aramis was frightening and spoke of a far larger problem.

The new development terrified the young agent. He had grabbed his phone to summon help, but his phone battery was finally dead. The best he could do was try to keep his friend cool but that was becoming harder and harder to do.

“You still owe me an apology,” d’Artagnan reminded the restless figure, trying to ignore the fact his breathing was getting worse, “I told you before. You’re going to be standing when you say it. Standing and laughing and calling me Pup…”

He swallowed hard, unnerved by Aramis’ unseeing eyes.

The sound of an opening door made the young man jump. Lemay dropped his bag and hurried over, taking in the situation before him.

“How long has he been like this?” The doctor demanded as he began his checks, “Why didn’t you call?”

“20 minutes? I’m sorry. I tried but my phone is dead. I couldn’t leave him alone. I’ve tried to keep him cool but…”

“You’ve done the best you can, is all we can ask,” Lemay assured. He tugged Aramis’ eye lid up and muttered at the lack of response, “Athos, my bag?”

d’Artagnan’s head whipped round and there he was, Athos stood in the doorway. A mask covered the lower part of his face, but those icy eyes were affixed to his men. For a moment it didn’t seem like he had heard the request but then he stooped, grabbing the bag and making his way over to the small group.

“But the quarantine?” d’Artagnan stared at Athos as he squatted down beside him.

“I’ve been separated from my men long enough, besides, with only one of you infected it seems a little redundant to stay away.” Athos shot d’Artagnan a sideways glance which made the younger man shudder. The look left no doubt in his mind that Athos knew about his blood tests and they would be discussing it later.

Lemay produced a vial and syringe from his bag and began the preparations.

“What’s that?” d’Artagnan asked.

“A vaccine synthesised from the antibodies found in your blood sample,” Lemay murmured, eyes focused on the syringe as it slowly filled. “Once your blood came back negative I had it tested for the presence of any abnormal antibodies. We extracted them and created this, in theory, it should work in the same way as a normal vaccine.”

“In theory?” d’Artagnan’s stomach lurched.

“There isn’t time to test it,” Athos muttered.

“If the vaccine can supress the virus it will give the antibiotics a chance to work,” Lemay raised the syringe. He carefully turned Aramis’ arm over and tapped the crook until he located the vein, “Right now I don’t see any alternative. We either try this or watch the pneumonia and fever kill him.”

“Right,” d’Artagnan felt numb as he watched the needle enter his friend’s arm. He flinched as Aramis’ let out a whine at the pain of the injection. He was so weak… This was it, the last option. Lemay had said it himself, this was the last chance Aramis had… If this didn’t work –

A hand fell heavily onto d’Artagnan’s shoulder and gave a supportive squeeze. He looked to his left, Athos gave him the smallest of nods, before returning his gaze to the worryingly still figure on the sofa.

After a moment d’Artagnan allowed his gaze to slide back as well.

 _Common, Aramis,_ he begged silently _, For us. You wanted me to swear, to make your stupid pact, well I did it… Now you have my blood to prove it. Please just…_

“Please...” d’Artagnan mumbled finally. He settled himself next to Aramis’ shoulder, his forehead propped against him on the sofa cushion.

Now they had to wait…

Athos, having already broken the quarantine, outright refused to be removed from the room and, not to be left out, Porthos joined them not long after. Lemay had at least forced him into a mask and shut the door tightly on Unit 2 once Athos had sworn to keep him updated on Aramis’ condition. They were all vaguely aware that Treville would tear all of them limb from limb when he discovered the risk they were putting themselves at but, after Lemay’s prognosis, none of them were willing to leave their teammate’s side.

Just… In case.

d’Artagnan had been reluctant to leave Aramis but Porthos had been insistent. His strong hand on the apprentice’s shoulder and the quiet words of, “You’ll looked after him long enough, let us take a turn,” finally made him give in. After gentle nudging d’Artagnan allowed himself to be pushed onto his original sofa. Athos settled himself in a nearby armchair, Porthos on the floor next to Aramis’ still form. He felt odd being away from the man he’d spent so long caring for, but Porthos was more than capable in taking up the responsibility. d’Artagnan allowed his eyes to close, listening to the low rumble of Porthos’ voice as he spoke to Aramis. The words weren’t important, but the familiar sound was a comfort to the young man in the same way he hoped it was for Aramis. He didn’t allow himself to sleep, but his mind did drift, only vaguely aware of his surroundings.

It was a few hours later when the sound of hurried movement roused d’Artagnan again. He opened his eyes. Porthos was crouched at the side of the couch, Athos stood behind the man, hand clutching his friend’s shoulder tightly. Their bodies blocked the sofa from view, blocked _Aramis_ from view. d’Artagnan’s heart shot up into his throat.

No. No, no, no…

He scrambled from the sofa, his feet clumsy with sleep even as his mind screamed out in panic. Aramis had fought too hard, had battled too hard to lose the fight now. Had he known this was to happen? Had that prompted his confession?

Please, Aramis… Not now…

“Is,” d’Artagnan’s voice cracked, “Is he-?”

Athos’ hand finally released Porthos’ shoulder as he turned. For a terrifying moment d’Artagnan expected a pained expression, heartbroken eyes, but instead their leader’s gaze was bright, even in his exhaustion.

“Here,” Athos moved to the side and reached out, drawing their youngest closer so he could see the figure on the sofa, “See for yourself…”

Aramis’ eyes were still unfocused, his body still worryingly weak, but there was a glisten across Aramis’ forehead which hadn’t been there before.

“Sweat…” d’Artagnan’s voice was thick. It was too soon for relief, too soon to exhale and count blessings but…

“His fever’s broken,” Athos murmured from behind d’Artagnan’s shoulder, “The antibiotics are working.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end of this fic, one chapter left! I hope you've enjoyed it so far ^^


	5. Chapter 5

Lemay agreed that Aramis could be moved to the medical wing 28 hours after the quarantine began and, 24 hours after that, Athos was certain Aramis was on the mend. Why? Because he became the world’s worst patient. It didn’t seem to matter to the madman that he was still hooked up to an IV and oxygen and could barely walk to a bathroom without feeling like he’d run a marathon, if he wanted coffee, then Aramis was determined to get coffee.

It had been finding him doubled over, half way between his bed and the door, body wracked with a mixture of wheezing and choking, which had led Athos to draw up a schedule. An Aramis-sitting schedule. The job of whoever was on watch was simple, amuse Aramis well enough but keep him inside the bed. Lemay had been clear on those objectives. Aramis’ lungs were in ribbons after the infection. The damage done by the infection and pneumonia would take some time to heel before rehabilitation could begin. As Lemay had pointed out to his patient, if his stubborn nature pushed his body beyond what it was capable of then his recovery would be severely delayed – if not cause permanent damage. The man had made a fuss about not needing a nanny, but secretly Athos was sure he was glad for the company.

When Athos had strode into the medical unit, four days since the team’s fateful mission, Aramis was sat up in bed, nasal cannula still in place, frowning down at the playing cards his hand. Porthos lounged in the chair next to him, legs kicked lazily up on the bed. A smirk slid across his face as he flipped his cards expertly between his fingers.

“I should call Lemay,” Athos mused as he pulled up his own seat, “Must have brain damage from the fever if you are playing Poker with Porthos.”

“Said if ‘e could beat me, I’d let him out of bed,” Porthos settled his arm lazily over the back of his chair, “Just give up n’ fold, will you?”

“This was rigged!” Aramis tossed the cards down with a huff which made Porthos grin.

“Of course it was,” Athos leant forward and tidied the cards away onto Aramis’ bedside cabinet, “It’s Porthos.”

“Now that’s slander…” The smile Porthos offered was that of a teddy bear. He tilted his chair back with a stretch. The cracks of his back were loud enough for the other men to hear.

Athos didn’t offer a response apart from an eye roll, instead turning his attention to the man in the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Still stuck in this bed,” Aramis wrinkled his nose, making the tubes wiggle against his face, “Lemay promised to move me down to a 50% oxygen mixture tonight to see how my lungs do.”

Athos nodded. 50% was still double the oxygen content of normal air, but the step down from 100% would be great progress. Slow but steady, even if Aramis would rather just ignore his current limitations, his friends were thankful for the progress.

“Well excellent. That’s a big step Aramis.”

Athos’ encouragements were met with a huff from the man in the bed. Porthos just rolled his eyes.

“Progress is progress, ya big lump.”

“So everyone says, yet I’m still stuck here…”

“Not forever,” Porthos soothed, “Your lungs need time and like it or not you need to give them it…”

“Yea, yea… So you’ve all said,” Aramis muttered in a sulk, but he did settle back onto his pillow. Athos wondered ideally how many more times they would be forced to endure the same conversation – how many times Aramis would need pacified?

Still though, Athos would accept the sulks, accept the whines, if it meant Aramis was safe. They had come so close to losing their friend, pouts seemed a little price to pay in comparison. Such a close call had put everything back into perspective. Or, at least, it should have… His mind drifted back to their youngest, who hadn’t seen since Aramis had been moved into the medical wing. Of course, at first, Athos had sent him home. He needed sleep, a shower, and to see his wife without a plate of glass in the middle.

But that had been days ago. Athos had checked the ID logs, d’Artagnan’s had swiped through the front entrance that morning – not that anyone had seen him. Not in the office, not de-briefing, not in Aramis’ room… Athos couldn’t help but wonder if, even after everything which had happened over the last few days, nothing had changed. Perhaps d’Artagnan and Aramis’ friendship was shattered beyond repair, beyond even what this near death experience bring back together. If that was the case then Athos knew their days as Unit 2 were over. Treville would never allow a team with such a fracture to continue. It would be too dangerous in the field, look what had already happened. A team divided was a team asking for trouble. As soon as their Captain found out about the split something would be done but Athos of unit two could only speculate as to what. The future of the team wouldn’t be up to him, Treville might transfer only one of them out or perhaps split up the whole unit.

The very idea of that felt like a punch to the gut.

“Athos?” Aramis frowned, shuffling on his bed until he could look his friend in the eye, “You look like you’ve swallowed a hedgehog.”

“Hmm?” Finally broken out of his bleak thoughts, Athos shook his head, attempting to rid them from his head, “Sorry. Just tired.”

Porthos shot their leader a look, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if seeing the bags under his eyes for the first time, “When was the last time you went home, Athos?”

“I went home last night.”

“Oh?” Porthos wasn’t buying it, “To sleep or just shower?”

Shower… Not that he was willing to admit it. It wasn’t that Athos had been purposefully avoiding sleep, but turning off had been difficult as of late. Between Aramis’ health and the fate of their team, Athos’ brain hadn’t allowed him much down respite. He’d grabbed an hours here and there, at his desk or on a sofa, but he always awoke, mind whirling, far before he was actually rested.

In an effort to avoid the trap of Porthos’ questioning, Athos decided to just ignore it, “I didn’t realise there would be an interrogation...”

“Shower,” Aramis shot a look at Porthos, who nodded in agreement, “Definitely just a shower.”

Athos rolled his eyes, “You are both impossible…”

“You wouldn’t let us go for days without proper sleep,” Porthos pointed, “Why would we-“

The knock at the door halted the good natured arguing as three sets of eyes swivelled.

d’Artagnan, looking washed and rested in clean black jeans and a crisp white shirt, leant against the doorframe. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow, with a few spots of crimson in the crook of his arm. Athos frowned, ready to ask about the blood’s origin, but Aramis opened his mouth first.

“We’re out of chairs, Pup… You can either join me on the bed or sit on the floor.”

While the other men looked on in mild disbelief, d’Artagnan smirked and entered the room. He hopped up onto the foot of the bed, nudging Porthos’ feet firmly until he had enough room. The big man just allowed it, eyes flicking between the two men, now on the hospital bed, in amazement.

“How long have you waited to say that to me?” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow as he settled himself cross legged on top of the covers.

“Depends,” Aramis’ eyes shone with mischief, “Are you bringing that wife of yours?”

Porthos shot a look of bewilderment at Athos as the other two began bickering good-naturedly back and forth. Athos just shrugged. He had no idea what had had transpired between his two men to reunite him but, to be quite honest, he didn’t care. He just settled back happily in his chair, holding back a smile as his men squabbled like school children.

“What’s with the blood?” Aramis leant forward and twitched the stained fabric of the young man’s shirt.

“I’ve been Lemay’s pin cushion all morning,” d’Artagnan paused to tug the fabric up to reveal two pale plasters which stood out against his tanned skin. The centre of each were darkened by blood and the side of them unstuck were fluid had oozed out. “He said he only took a pint, not sure I believe him…”

“He doesn’t like to go outside…” Aramis mused, “I’ve never seen him in sunlight? Maybe the blood wasn’t for scientific purposes…”

Athos cast a disparaging look towards his friend in the best, “If you are suggesting Lemay is a vampire...”

Aramis eyes widen in an innocence which Athos never trusted, “All I’m saying is-“

“You’re not saying anything,” Athos shook his head and turned his attention to their youngest, “What was the blood for?”

d’Artagnan just shrugged, “More tests probably. The man’s desperate to know where my anti-bodies came from. He also wants a proper vaccine on hand, just in case this stuff resurfaces.”

“Or maybe…” Aramis’ eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

“Aramis!”

The man held up his hands in surrender, a laugh bubbling up throat which quickly turned into a cough. It was nowhere near the worst of the last few days, but d’Artagnan’s flinch didn’t escape their leader’s gaze. It surprised him but then again, how many times had he heard that noise, followed by blood in the quarantine?

Athos leant forward, rubbing Aramis’ back as he coughed and passed him some water once it had passed.

“What was I saying earlier about taking it easy?” Athos asked with a smirk.

“Yea, yea…” Aramis set the glass back on the bedside table. He settled back on the pillows, eyes half closed as he took a few shaky breaths.

“Maybe,” Porthos shot a questioning glance at Athos, “You could do with some rest? Why don’t we come back later?”

Aramis’ eyes shot up, looking stricken at the very idea of being left alone.

“I can stay?” d’Artagnan offered, stretching himself on the bed so his legs slid up to the left Aramis’ body, “This bed is pretty comfy.”

With that their marksman relaxed back onto his pillows. Athos nodded and stood from his chair, followed a moment Porthos.

“He ain’t allowed outa that bed,” Porthos offered d’Artagnan a smirk, “Break his legs if you have to.”

The young man nodded, ignoring Aramis’ glare of betrayal, “Understood.”

Athos clapped his hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder, “Good man.” Before he looked back to Porthos, “I suppose we should check in with the Captain... Come on, I’m sure he’s more than capable of Aramis watch…”

Aramis muttered something under his breath in Spanish. Although d’Artagnan couldn’t translate it, he imagined it was something similar to the English term “traitor”. It least, whatever was said, was done so with a smile.

As the other two left, Aramis and d’Artagnan fell into a silence, broken only by Aramis’ deep breaths. There was a rhythm to it, in through the nose and out through the mouth… He wondered ideally just how difficult Aramis’ breathing still was. Considering how hard it had become only days before, d’Artagnan couldn’t help but wonder how much pain his friend was still hiding.

Aramis and his pride…

“Constance sends her love,” d’Artagnan said finally, unsure of what else there was.

Aramis smiled a little from his position against the pillows, “Well I always send her mine.”

d’Artagnan had to laugh at that. He nudged the man’s legs gently with his own in a half-hearted reprimand, “Pervert…”

“So cruel…” Aramis’s voice trailed off as his gaze turned to the window. For a moment d’Artagnan wondered if he had actually offended the older man, when he spoke up again, “Constance, did you tell her?”

“No,” d’Artagnan shook his head, eyes glancing to the open door a little nervously, “I didn’t but, well she knows…”

“Then did Anne..?”

“She must have.”

Aramis nodded, eyes still stubbornly looking out the window rather than at the man at the end of the bed.

“Has Anne…” d’Artagnan ventured, “Visited since the quarantine?”

But the man just shook his head. He seemed to be trying his best look as if the whole situation didn’t bother him, but his eyes betrayed him. They filled themselves with hurt, with a grief for woman he couldn’t have a child which would never be his.

“I’m not surprised,” Aramis attempted a shrug which looked anything but genuine, “She made herself clear the day of your ceremony… She won’t leave, won’t do it to Louis, the scandal would end his career.”

“Aramis…”

But it seemed that Aramis wanted to speak. Perhaps carrying this secret for so long had been heavy on his heart, maybe having someone to share it with was the one silver lining.

“I know what the others think of my indiscretions with Anne, and perhaps they were partly right, but I do love her… And I think she did love me, in some way. It’s just not enough. I suppose I got myself into this mess. I asked for it.”

“You never asked for this Aramis,” d’Artagnan shook his head.

“Maybe I did. Maybe this is God’s way of punishing me for my life choices. Give me a child who can’t ever be mine...” Aramis ran his hand without his IV through his hair, “It certainly feels like penance.”

“She still has time to change her mind?” d’Artagnan offered, “She did come to see you…”

“Only because she thought I was dying. I suspect your wife had a hand in that,” A shadow of a smile traced over the man’s face, “She can be quite persuasive.”

d’Artagnan smirked for a moment, “Don’t I know it.”

The humour only lasted for a moment before Aramis sighed once more, “Sadly I think even Constance will not change her mind. I fear Anne had made her decision, it’s just something I will have to live with. Although,” Those sad, dark eyes slid up and found d’Artagnan, “It’s nice not to shoulder the secret alone for now.”

Oh Aramis… d’Artagnan’s hand slid out and settled itself on his friend’s shin.

“Nah…” the young man offered a smile, settling back comfortably at the foot of the bed, “You don’t…”

* * *

 

As it turned out, Athos wasn’t the only who’d had the idea of visiting his Captain. When he and Porthos turned up at the door to his office, the two chairs were across from his desk were already occupied. Ninon and Samara looked up from their seats, the former offering a nod while the later more of a smile.

Treville waved them both in, “Well this will save me saying everything twice. Come in, the pair of you.”

Athos raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. He settled into his at rest pose, a habit left over from the army, with his feet planted shoulder width apart and hand laced behind his back. He waited for Treville to speak.

“This had the potential to turn catastrophic,” Treville levelled a look at each of the agents in front of him, “I don’t think that will be a surprise to anyone. The sheer amount of influenza uncovered was enough to launch biological attacks on every major city in France, with enough left over to make a good dent in a great number of our allies. The conjunction between Units 2, 5 and 6 was well done. France is safer because of your efforts.”

Athos couldn’t help but be surprised. He had kind of expected a dressing down for putting his men in such danger. Aramis had almost died because he had allowed him to open that vial. It was a guilt which wasn’t wouldn’t disappear any time soon.

Clearly his feelings had been mirrored in his face. Treville’s eyes settled on his agent.

“Your team took a risk, Athos. Their safety was put at risk, but revealing how dangerous the vials were pushed us into action. That does not mean, however, that I won’t hesitate to castrate the next person to make such a reckless decision…”

Porthos looked a little smug beside him as Athos nodded, “Understood.”

“Excellent, now…” Treville flipped open a file on his desk, “We sent a copy of the Virus’ make-up to our contacts in the United Kingdom, Germany, America and Russia. Only Russia has seen something similar before. The virus they have on record isn’t the same as that of the raid, the makeup is similar but decidedly weaker. The record of the event is being translated and faxed over, but the contact spoke of an outbreak eight years ago at a university. Only two fatalities, but the infection rate was unprecedented. Lemay seems to think our virus is a genetically modified version of that Russian strain.”

Porthos leaned forward as the other three agents digested the information, “So, what are you saying, this was a Russian attack?”

Samara shook her head, “We arrested three men… None of them Russian.”

“No links whatsoever?” Athos found that hard do believe.

“They were French,” Ninon’s face twisted as if the very idea of sharing a nationality with those men disgusted her, “Scientists. Probably created the virus to sell it to the highest bidder. Animals…”

“Are they in our holdin’ cells?” Porthos asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “I’d love to pay them a visit…”

“And it’s for that very reason they’re not,” Treville shot Porthos a withered look.

“I just wanta’ talk to them… That’s all…”

“No Porthos.”

“But-“

Athos placed a hand on Porthos’ arm, silencing him, before addressing his commander, “Was it only those three men? Do we know who they planned to sell too?”

“We think it was a small operation. They haven’t given us any names yet, but we have plenty time... Those men are facing a quiet trial and then a lifetime in jail,” Treville flicked the file closed and offered it to Athos. “Ninon and Samara have had a look, but by all means, in case something was missed.”

Athos took the file with a nod. Something tickled his brain, the beginnings of a theory, a raising of a question.

“Could you have that file on the Russian virus forwarded to me once it arrives?”

“Of course,” Treville nodded, “And I assume you will share this information with the rest of your men? How is Aramis doing?”

“Oh he’s driving us slowly insane with his attempts to leave his hospital bed,” Athos tucked the file under his arm with a smirk, “So he is most definitely on the mend.”

Their commander let out a chuckle as Athos turned to leave the office, “You have my permission to handcuff him into place if necessary.”

Athos shot a look ever his shoulder at the room behind him. Samara and Porthos were openly laughing at the idea, even Ninon wore a slight smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised as he left the room.

* * *

 

The file from Russia arrived a few hours later. Treville had attached a short note, he hadn’t had a chance to study the file himself and wanted to be kept in the loop. Athos was sat at his desk, alone in the office of Unit 2. d’Artagnan, as far as he knew, was still with on Aramis watch, and Porthos had gone with Samara for coffee, desperate for details on the raid. It was rare Athos had the office to himself, it gave their leader an odd feeling. The room seemed… Too big, too quiet without his friends. Still though, perhaps it meant he would get some work done.

Athos waited until the whole file had chugged out of his old printer. The original first and the English translation thanks to their informant on a few sheets behind. He supposed he could have received the file earlier and asked d’Artagnan to translate it but… No. Or not yet at least.

Carefully he began to pour over the file, slowly matching up the sections of Russian to their English counterpart. The file wasn’t long, three pages at the most. It spoke of an outbreak of influenza on a university campus. The University of Tampov, situated in the city of Tampov in the west of Russia, was small by international standards. The file suggested upwards of 68 percent of their faculty were effected, along with an undetermined number of students. Most presented with flu like symptoms, and were cared for in the community. Sixteen were hospitalized with complications, all of whom had underlying health conditions.

There were two photographs in the file, both with captions underneath them. It took Athos a moment to locate the correct translation on the accompanying page.

The first was a photograph of woman, perhaps in her fifties, with short grey hair and round glasses.

_“Elisa Kazakov; employed at the university as a receptionist. Died on October 12th 2003. Cause of death determined as pneumonia caused by influenza.”_

Athos’ eyes slid down to the other photograph. It looked like an ID photograph, the sort taken by a place of work for a staff badge. The man was younger than the other victim. He was pale with short dark hair clipped close to his head. His eyes were dark and bright and… Uncomfortable familiar.

_“Alexandre d’Artagnan; employed in janitorial sector. Died on October 19th 2003. Cause of death determined as a severe asthma attack brought on by the contraction on the influenza virus.”_

And there it was. Athos pushed himself back from his desk and rubbed his hands over his tired eyes. There was the reason d’Artagnan had the antibodies in his system, the reason Aramis still breathed. He must have been exposed the virus during the outbreak and recovered just as the rest of those effected.

Only without his father…

It was only now, thinking back over the time since d’Artagnan’s had their team, that Athos realised he rarely offered information of his family. He knew their youngest’ parents no longer lived and that he was an only child – Aramis’ question could be insistent at times. For the most part d’Artagnan would just shrug at more pressing enquiries.

_“Constance_ ,” He had said mused once during a barrage of Aramis’ questions, _“Is the only family from Russia I need. The only one left to bring…”_

That had silenced Aramis quite successfully, at least for a while.

Athos sighed, realising he needed to form an email to Treville… Somehow. He couldn’t really work out where to begin, somehow it didn’t feel like his story to tell anymore. He rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers. When did this get so difficult?

The creak of the door made Athos look up. d’Artagnan backed into the room, forcing the door open with his shoulder.

“Aramis is asleep,” d’Artagnan explained as he turned round. Athos could see a cup of coffee in each hand, “Went downstairs to grab some coffee, Porthos said you were here… I thought you could use –“

d’Artagnan took in the scene before him, Athos’ worn down face, and well mussed hair.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’ve worked out where your antibodies came from…” Athos pushed back from his desk as d’Artagnan placed the coffee down, now quite forgotten, “Have a look…”

Athos passed over the papers, quite forgetting d’Artagnan wouldn’t need the translation. He ignored it anyway, focusing instead on the original Russian text. Athos watched carefully as the youngest member of Unit two’s lips moved wordlessly as he read through the file, eyes creasing in hurt as a finger reached out and traced the picture of his father.

“I didn’t…” d’Artagnan coughed in an attempt to cover the horse tone to his voice, “I didn’t think to say… I got sick after my father…” He coughed again and Athos pretended not to notice the shine in the young man’s eyes. “But only for a day… There was so much else going on, I barely…”

Athos’ hand slid onto d’Artagnan’s shoulder and squeezed.

“That virus was the base of the one you and Aramis were exposed to,” He explained gently, “Treville thinks they used it because of its contagion rate. It was then engineered to increase its potency…”

Athos wasn’t sure if d’Artagnan was listening. His eyes hadn’t moved from the picture of his father.

“d’Artagnan?”

The young man gave a stiff nod. “I… I understand I just…” d’Artagnan reached up and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“I know…” Athos stood up and steered d’Artagnan firmly over to his own desk before pressing him firmly into his seat. He placed a coffee cup into his friend’s hand.

“He was a good man…” d’Artagnan sighed finally, “My dad. Mum was long gone by then. It was just us. He worked so hard, looked after me and worked at the university and… When he got sick he wasn’t worried. Refused to stop. I heard coughing from his room late at night, then wheezing… The next morning it was too quiet…”

Athos swallowed, realising what d’Artagnan had said without words. Poor boy… To go through so much so young, it had to leave its mark. And then to have to listen to Aramis coughing and hacking at his worst, knowing what had happened before…

d’Artagnan surely was one of the bravest men Athos knew.

Carefully Athos raised his, now lukewarm, coffee a few inches from the desk and angled it towards d’Artagnan.

“To your dad?” 

The young man glanced up and, despite the moisture in his eyes, offered a small smile. He raised his own coffee cup, tapping it against his leaders’.

“To my dad…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's us all wrapped up, I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> I've still got ideas for this universe, I can't see Blood Ties being over yet^^
> 
> Let me know what you think - I love any and all feedback :D
> 
> Lat x

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear... Poor boys!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think ^^


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